


Choices

by SilverFountains



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Modern Gold Sickness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 10:43:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1741850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFountains/pseuds/SilverFountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt : numb.</p><p>So for this prompt I asked myself the question - What if Thorin had been a wealth-obsessed and one-goal focused man in our world in our lifetime? What if his greed had led to his downfall in a 21st century London? What would that look like for him?</p><p>I wrote this at Paddington station whilst waiting for my train back home, people watching </p><p>NB. This is not a Thorin/Kili relationship fic as I normally write it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Choices

He watched foot after foot stride past him. Always in hurry. A flurry of brown and black leather shoes and white trainers occasionally interrupted by a flash of red or even blue or high-heeled green. He watched them run and walk and sometimes stumble. And there was always the one rushing against the flow, pushing, like a salmon making its way upstream. If he raised his eyes a little there were the trousers and the skirts swishing past, the long brown coats and the suitcases. Going one way in the morning and back again in the evening.

This was the daily commute through one of the busiest train stations in the city. The rush from the home to the office and back again.  The system that fed the organic mass into the beast that was the rat race and safely back to their comfortable homes and their loved once again once they had stopped playing their games of cat and mouse.

Once he would have been on that train himself, would have joined in the big swarm of people spilling out of it, have been the one to grab a rushed coffee on the way to the office. He had worn those fine suits and leather shoes with the soft soles. He had smelt of the expensive cologne  that occasionally wafted towards him. He would have been  one of those men to rush past, unseeing and unhearing. Chatting too loudly on a mobile phone. Snarling at the person in front who hesitated just a moment too long at the bottom of the escalator, stopping the flow like a factory transfer belt waiting for the goods to pile up.

But that was a lifetime ago. Before his business had gone bust. Before his marriage had hit the rocks and his wife had run off with his best friend. Before he had found that alcohol was his only friend left in the world. And now the clothes on his back were the only ones he owned. And the scent that hang around him was a combination of spirits, tobacco and not having had a proper shower for days.

“Spare some change?” he asked. Too quiet, a whisper almost. Whether the lady did not hear him or simply ignored him did not really matter in the end. The outcome was the same. He hated that bit more than anything else. He could deal with the sleeping rough, with the hunger and the eating scraps and leftovers. But the begging really took the last bit of dignity out of him. He did not know which bit he hated more; the being ignored like he just simply did not exist or the excitement he felt when a couple of copper were chucked carelessly in his cup. How once upon a time he could have lost a fortune and shrugged his shoulders at it and now he clung onto a pound coin like it was a crown jewel.

He raised his eyes a little more and glanced at the clock. 8.21. His train arrived at 8.23. And at 8.25 he would be walking past him. First he would stop at the little coffee kiosk just opposite where he was sat and order a large latte in his soft Irish accent, before he would rush on towards the underground. The same routine every morning, five days a week. It was the accent that had first drawn his attention a few months ago; one not heard much around these parts. And now every morning he looked out for him. It was just something to do. Something to measure the time by. And one of the few things that he still looked forward to in his otherwise gloomy day.

He liked to watch the handsome young man with the bouncy dark curls. He always seemed to smile, always seemed happy. He had been like that once. So much like him. When the world had seemed to be a gold vein just begging to be discovered. Once upon a time his eyes had sparkled with that glee, that lust for life and desire to prove himself. It was like looking back at his younger self, before his greed had led to his risky investments failing so abysmally and wiping his assets clean. Before he had been so focused on his work that he had forgotten what really mattered in life and his wife had thrown him out in favour for someone who preferred to spend time in their marital bed rather than at the office.

8.25. Here he comes. His smart soft grey suit complimenting his light olive skin. The smile already there as he determinedly walks towards the coffee kiosk. He does not see him. He never does. Whereas the young man is the focus of his own morning and evening ritual, he does not feature in his. And why would he?

He watches the girl at the kiosk greet him brightly. That is how he first learnt of his name. Kili. He realises he is mouthing it as the kiosk girl says it. That is how predictable this routine has become. The young man takes his coffee and gives the girl a cheeky wink like he does every morning before he joins the commuters’ stream again.

***

His promotion a few months ago had been what he had worked for so hard all these years and he was proud of what he had achieved. At the age of thirty he was the youngest senior partner in his company. And when he was given the assignment in London he had been over the moon. He had rented a nice little apartment just outside of the city. His colleagues had laughed at him, told him he should get himself a bachelor pad in the centre, enjoy the capital’s nightlife. But although he enjoyed working in the city, he had grown up in the Irish countryside. And every day he was grateful to leave all the noise – the people, the cars, the sirens and the building works – behind him and return to his quiet little apartment above a little country pub. He might look the part – the flash clothes, the expensive watch, the latest gadgets in is hand – but in his heart of hearts he would always be a country lad.

His train is on time and he walks over to the little coffee kiosk, smiling at the red-haired girl behind the counter. She somehow seems to know his name – he must have told her at some point although he cannot remember when and he regrets he does not remember hers in return. Nonetheless he smiles brightly at her as she hands him his latte. He grins to himself. Despite the buzz of his city job his life has become such a predictable routine. He takes his change and turns around to follow the bright coloured signs direction him to the correct platform.

As he stands fumbling for his oyster card, ready to fly through the little gates that guide the travellers through to their destination, his eye briefly falls on the dark haired tramp huddled against the wall, softly mumbling to  people for change. He sits there every day; in the morning and again – or still - in the evening. His eyes downcast and occasionally nodding when someone chucks a few coppers his way. Although when he glances over he thinks for a moment that the guy is looking at him in return.

He has never stopped, never had the opportunity to. Well, that is not quite true, never made the opportunity. It is one of those awkward things. He feels sorry for the guy, but equally he feels awkward to throw money at someone. It feels arrogant. Still, he looks at the change in his hand and walks over, letting the couple of coins tumble into the near empty cup that stands before the guy.

“Bless you,” the other says, glancing up tentatively. Kili smiles and gives a brief nod. The guy’s bright blue eyes look old and hollow as they gaze into his, before being cast down again. And then Kili turns around to start the rest of his day.

***

Thorin stares at the coins in surprise. £2.05. It is not much in this day and age, but it is far more than most people give. It will buy him a sandwich. Or maybe a coffee. Or if he saves it up he can buy a large bottle of spirit. That is probably what he will do. That stills both the hunger and the thirst in one.

He had not expected the young man – Kili - to stop. He never had before. As the guy had dropped his coins into his cup he had briefly glanced up at him, into those deep brown eyes. Beautiful eyes, full of happiness. And he had felt a strange kind of sorrow. Not even because of his own loss. But a fear that the young man’s eyes would one day be like his. He knew how easy it was to fall from grace. The higher up you got, the further you had to fall. And he knew as he had tumbled right down into the darkest cellars of life.

But of course Kili wouldn’t. Most people had a successful career and ended up living a full and happy life. He just had been stupid. Arrogant and greedy. And he had taken greater and greater risks until his life had come crushing down like a card house. Kili was not like him. He would grow up to be a happy man with a lovely wife, a couple of kids and a nice cottage out in the country somewhere. That was his hope for him. For this stranger whom he would never know. He no longer had any hope for himself. He had no children. He might as well have a dream for someone else. He had nothing else to do all day but to count the hours until the evening rush began and Kili would walk past again.

***

His day had been busy, filled with meetings and phonecalls and negotiations. He had had an expensive business lunch – far too expensive for what it was but it overlooked the Thames and that automatically seemed the warrant a tripling of the price – and he had no time to think about anything or anyone else.

It is only when he steps off the overfull underground train, slightly swaying still from the strange motion, does he remember those grey blue eyes that had looked into his this morning. As he spills out onto the escalator towards the trains, together with a thousand other commuters, his eyes search for him. He is there as always. In the same place, like a living statue. For a moment Kili wonders if he ever moves from that place. He must do surely.

Then the guy looks up at him as if he has been waiting for him. Kili smiles but the other just looks. There is no smile in those eyes. No emotion. Just an almost pitied look. It confuses Kili for a moment. Why would this vagrant pity him? He has everything the guy does not – money, nice clothes, food in his belly. He takes a step forward, causing the person behind him to snap as he nearly bumps in to him. Kili mumbles an apology and then joins the flow again, towards his next train to take him home. And all the while those grey blue eyes follow him until he is out of sight.

***

They have a new routine. For the last week the young man with the dark brown curls had arrived on the 8.23 and walked past him at 8.25 to get a latte from the coffee kiosk as every time before. But for the last week he has turned to him and given him the £2.05 change from his fiver. And every day he has said “bless you” and Kili has smiled brightly at him before walking on. He does not even know why he offers a blessing. He is not religious; never has been. But it seems to be what the other beggars do and it has become a habit.

But this morning there is something different. It is 7.25 and the station is still quite, although it will soon start to fill up as the morning rush will begin in earnest. It is freezing in the big draughty hall. Winter has properly set in now and last night temperatures had almost dropped below zero. As he tries to pull the thick blanket closer around himself suddenly he hears that bright voice with the Irish twang in it. He glances up in surprise – in confusion. This is not the routine. Kili’s train comes in at 8.23! The coffee shop has only just opened and the red-headed waitress is not even there yet. A spotty student serves the well-dressed young man instead. None of this is right and it feels strangely uncomfortable. Like someone has shaken up his day and life will never be the same. He finds himself grinning ludicrously. Even sitting here begging shamefully he holds on to his own routine. All humans are like cattle – driven by the endless ticking of the clock whether you are at the bottom or the top of the slaughterpile.

And then those highly polished black shoes appear in front of him. At least that bit – despite being an hour early – has not changed.

But he jumps as the other bends down and instead of throwing the usual change in his cup says softly. “Hi there. I am Kili.”

He glances up, frowning. He should answer, he must say something. But he is dumbstruck.

The young man sticks out his hand and he tentatively takes it. He has not touched another human since his wife left him. And the sensation of the warm skin on his feel almost alien. He yanks his hand back, confused. “Thorin,” he mumbles inaudibly.

“Sorry? Thomas?” Kili asks gently.

He clears his throat. “Thorin,” he says louder this time, staring at the cup as if hoping that change will magically appear in it and Kili will be on his way. He does not know what to do with this new situation. This is unfamiliar territory and all of a sudden he feels frightened.

“Do you … Would you mind if I sat with you for a moment? I am a little early.”

His frown deepens but he shrugs. He does not really want the other to sit with him. It just feels awkward and it definitely is not part of the routine. But it’s a free country and he can hardly forbid the guy to sit down.

“Thanks,” Kili says as he awkwardly lowers himself onto the floor. “I ehm … I got you a coffee. Since it is cold and all I thought you might like a hot drink. It’s a latte. I hope that’s alright?”

Thorin looks up at the cup that is held out to him. He nods and takes it. “Thanks,” he croaks. His already deep voice has become even deeper and croakier over the years through lack of usage and too much smoking and drinking.

“You’re welcome.”

They sit in silence, sipping their coffees which are far too hot to drink. Thorin wraps his hands over the warm mug, grateful to warm his hands which feel numb from the icy cold that is already beginning to creep into his bones.

“So ehm … how long have you been here? At Paddington I mean.”

Thorin sighs. He is not sure whether he wants to make conversation with this stranger. But it feel impolite not to now that he has bought him a coffee. “Not sure,” he answers honestly. Time does not seem to hold any meaning any longer. Each day starts anew and finishes when he falls asleep and passes out. The only pattern is the routine that Kili has now ruined. And the two days in the week when the commute stops and the tourists come who are even less likely to offer him change, leaving his stomach even more empty than usual. How long has he been here? A month? A year? He remembers the previous winter so he must have been here just over a year. It had been freezing cold then too and no amount of blankets could offer any protection from the bitterness. In the end he had had to resort to one of those shelters for the homeless, but he had hated every minute of it. Being surrounded by those losers in life, those with no hope and no future. It was like looking in a broken mirror and having his distorted image beamed back at him over and over and over again until he just wanted to sink into oblivion and never wake up again. But he had and winter was knocking on the door again already. And he dreaded having to face that again; not sure that he could.

“I have not been in the city for very long,” Kili attempts conversation since the other guy clearly isn’t a talkative sort. He thinks for a moment whether he has done the right thing to sit down here, but he is here now and he might as well at least wait for his coffee to cool down. “I am originally from Ireland as I am sure you can hear in my silly accent.”

“I think it is nice,” Thorin says softly, to both their surprise. For a moment their eyes cross and they stare at each other unblinking before they both return their gaze to their coffee. “What do you do?” Thorin asks quietly. His voice sounds strange to him. Other than the whispered begging for change he has not spoken that many words for a long time.

“I am a portfolio manager,” Kili smiled proudly. “It means …”

“I know what is means,” Thorin huffs.

“Sorry, I did not mean to insult you,” Kili says. He really hadn’t and again he feels arrogant and suddenly very uncomfortable sitting next to this much older guy. “How did you ehm …?”

Thorin looks up and his grey blue eyes burrow into Kili’s. He tries to work out whether it is even worth talking to this young man. Whether he is worth telling him anything about himself. In the end he decides he has nothing to lose and at least it will kill some of the time sat awkwardly next to each other. “I worked in investment banking when I was your age,” he begins quietly. “So I know your world better than you think. I had a good life, a wife, a house, plenty of money. But it was never enough. I always needed another thrill, a bigger risk with the chance of a greater return.” His eyes are still focused on Kili’s as he relates his story to him. “I was playing with fire and one day I got burnt and it destroyed everything. By the time I opened my eyes again I had no job, no wife, no house. Nothing.” He snaps his jaw shut and returns his gaze to his coffee. His throat feels dry and he takes a sip.

“Wow,” Kili whispers softly.  It feels like a stupid thing to say but he doesn’t know what else to say. “I am sorry,” follows the cliché and he cringes as he says it.

Thorin snorts. “Don’t be. My life, my decisions.” He looks at Kili again. “You are not responsible for my life. Only for your own.”

“I know that,” Kili says, feeling a little scolded, but equally this guy does not have to treat him like a child.

“Do you have a wife?” Thorin asks suddenly.

“N… no. I am …” He blushes, feeling very conscious suddenly of the personal question. But this stranger has just laid bare his life and soul to him and well, what does he care anyway. He doesn’t know this guy. “I have a boyfriend. Back in Ireland.”

“What’s his name?”

“Eh … Fili …”

“Then why are you here?” Thorin presses. “If your boyfriend lives in Ireland, why are you not with him?”

Kili stares at him. That too is a rather personal question. “Because … because I work here!” he says almost indignantly, now really regretting his decision to try and be nice to this beggar. What the hell is it to him?

Thorin shrugs and they stare at each other in silence for a moment.

“I eh … I had best be going now,” Kili says, beginning to feel uncomfortable sat in the cold, saying nothing to the stranger next to him. He slowly rises to his feet, stretching his legs which have gone a little stiff from sitting on the floor. He brushes off his expensive suit. “Nice to meet you.” He nods to the man on the floor.

Slowly Thorin looks up into those warm brown eyes. “I wish you all the best, Kili from Ireland,” he simply answers. And as he returns his gaze to the floor he mumbles, “And I hope that you make better decisions than me.”

***

The station is filled with busy Christmas shoppers and the singing of carols bounces through the large hall. Fili cannot take it all in at once – he is so very excited that Kili has brought him here. He had been so very surprised when his boyfriend had turned up on his doorstep just under a month ago now, saying that he was coming home. That he liked his job in London but not as much as he loved being back in Ireland with him. And that he was going to find himself a job closer to home so that they could spend more time together. Surprised and overjoyed and completely overwhelmed when Kili had proposed to him.

Kili watches his fiancé with glee. Fili had been so excited when he had asked him to come to London with him to spend Christmas together here, kind of as a goodbye to his old life and to show Fili the world he had briefly worked in.

But also, he wants to go back to the guy who made him think about what really is important in this life. To show him that he did make the right decision. Or at least he thinks he has. But as he scans the hallway just opposite the coffee kiosk he cannot see anyone there.

He walks over to the kiosk and is greeted by a stranger. “There used to be a guy there,” he points over at the wall opposite where people are now pushing past each other with arms full of shopping bags. “A beggar. Longish dark hair, a big peppered beard. Have you seen him.”

“Sorry mate,” the guy behind the bar says. “Have worked here for nearly a month now and never seen anyone sat there.” Then with a bright smile, “What can I get you?” And Kili orders two lattes as he stares at the place where he had sat down to talk to a complete stranger who had opened his eyes to an alternative life. And he wonders what has become of him.

That, he may never know ...


End file.
